Zelda yelped in surprise. She turned her face away, pressing her good hand over the new wound. Logan’s precision had left a neater injury than her magic had left Kerri with, but blood still pooled in the circle of deep punctures. A green bruise was also spreading up her arm, accompanied by an odd sensation.
“Logan?” Zelda rasped. Her shoulder shook once. Twice. And then it wouldn’t stop. She spasmed and fell back on the grass.
“Zelda!” Logan pushed the dead man aside and reached for her.
Chapter Eleven
Logan cradled Zelda’s trembling body to his chest, grunting as he struggled to hold on to her and simultaneously open the back door to the pub. He finally managed to twist the doorknob and pushed his shoulder into the door, swinging it open to smack the kitchen wall.
“Violet!” he shouted as he lay Zelda on the oak table she’d saved so many lives on. “Violet!” he screamed again, ripping off his jacket and pressing it into Zelda’s arm.
The sound of heavy footsteps came down the stairs. Violet and Grant froze in the kitchen, their eyes going wide at the sight of Zelda incapacitated.
“Don’t just stand there,” Logan snarled. “Get the trauma bag. Boil some water.”
Zelda’s hand shot out and squeezed his arm. “My herbs,” she said weakly. “I need my herb box.”
“On it,” Violet answered, taking off up the stairs.
Grant ran around the kitchen counter and filled a pot with water. He set it on the stove and fetched the trauma bag. His hands shook as he passed it to Logan.
Zelda looked up, her eyes dilated and glassy. “I’m sorry, Theo. I couldn’t let go. I just made it worse. I make everything worse.” Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she stopped shaking.
“Zee?” Logan shook her shoulders. “Zelda?”
Violet returned with the herb box. The lid was already open, and she shuffled through the assortment of bags inside.
“Where is it?” she sobbed. “I know it’s in here.”
Logan growled and paced around the table, his hands pressed to his forehead helplessly. He couldn’t think straight. He didn’t know enough humans, and he definitely didn’t know enough witches to know how to care for a werewolf bite on one.
Violet winced as she dropped an herb packet, clenching her fingers into a fist with a gasp. “Found it.”
She bent over and carefully picked up the herbs by one corner of the mesh pouch. “Scoop out a cup of that boiling water, Grant.”
“What is it?” Logan asked, circling the table to look over her shoulder.
“Wolfsbane tea, and it burns like a mother. Don’t touch it.” She dropped the pouch down in the steaming cup of water Grant brought, then pointed him toward the coat closet. “There’s an old green trauma kit buried in the back of the closet.”
Grant didn’t wait for an explanation, returning a second later with the kit. Logan ripped it open, giving Violet a scowl when she swatted his arm.
“There are silver dressings in there. Be careful,” she said.
Logan picked through the bag, finding the silver dressings in sealed plastic. He tore a corner of the bag open, then reeled back from the bitter odor that drifted out to greet him.
He set the package aside and removed his jacket from Zelda’s arm. The bite still oozed blood, but not as freely as Kerri’s wound had. The greenish bruise concerned him more than anything. He carefully wrapped the silver dressing around her elbow, hissing when his fingers slipped and touched the shiny inner lining.
Zelda would have to be propped up before they could give her the tea, but the wedge pillow sat on the kitchen counter, crusted with Kerri’s blood. Logan frowned and turned back to Violet and Grant.
“She needs to be moved to a bed.”
Grant took off for the closet again. “I’ll grab the stretcher—”
“No,” Logan said. “I can carry her. Just bring the tea up.”
He looked down at Zelda’s face, wondering if he had ever seen her look so at peace before. Then he pulled her carefully into his arms and carried her upstairs to her apartment.
Logan wasn’t overly familiar with Zelda’s place, but he managed to find his way to the bedroom and laid her over the green and gray checkered comforter. Violet brought the tea up on a tray with a small teapot and an extra packet of wolfsbane tea.
“This is all Doc had, but I’ll call Orpheus House and see if Dr. Delph has any more on hand,” she said before quietly slipping out of the room and leaving Logan alone with Zelda.
He stacked her pillows and tried to drag her up on the bed, propping her head up as high as he could before attempting the tea. At first, it leaked from the corners of her mouth, burning when he tried to mop it up with his fingers. He fetched a box of tissues from the adjoining bathroom and tried again. Zelda stirred, occasionally swallowing or lolling her head to the side, causing the tea to drip down her neck and soak her blouse and vest.
When the first cup was gone, Logan filled it with hot water from the teapot and dropped the fresh herb pouch in to steep while he extracted Zelda from her damp clothes.
Goosebumps sprouted over the exposed skin of her neck and chest and along her thin arms. She shivered and her eyes cracked open. Their usual caramel was covered in a milky haze.
“Theo, I’m cold. Hold me,” she whispered.
Logan twisted the vest in his hands and gritted his teeth, trying to decide what to do. Would she be disappointed if she woke with him at her side when she was expecting her late lover? How long could he hold her while she cried out for another? How much could his heart take?
“Please,” Zelda sobbed, making up Logan’s mind for him.
There was an overstuffed chair in the corner with a quilt draped over the back. He grabbed the quilt and threw it over Zelda, tucking her in before crawling in next to her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in against his chest.
Zelda’s ragged breath slowed and she tilted her head against his. When her eyes closed, Logan lay awake watching over her. He knew she probably needed more of the tea, but for now, holding her seemed to be doing more good. For both of them.
Chapter Twelve
Zelda knew it was a dream, but she tried to convince herself it wasn’t.
She was in the car with Theo again, and they were laughing as they sang along to a song on the radio on the way home from Theo’s first company Christmas party as partner. Everyone had called her Dr. Dane all night, mistaking them for a married couple. Theo had played along, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Their two-year anniversary was coming up, and Theo’s sister kept hinting that she’d been jewelry shopping with him recently. Zelda would feign surprise when he proposed to keep her future sister-in-law in Theo’s good graces. Her heart still fluttered at the thought, so it wouldn’t be too hard.
The song ended and Theo smiled at her. “So, Dr. Dane, are you on call tonight? Do you have room in your busy schedule to pencil in a ruggedly handsome business man?”
Zelda raised an eyebrow. “Is this ruggedly handsome business man in need of medical attention?”
“Oh yes.” He nodded vigorously and loosened the bowtie at his neck. “His problem is dire. You see, every time he looks at his girlfriend, he’s struck with the sudden urge to bed her. It’s the darndest thing—and rather embarrassing when it happens in public,” he added, whispering to the side of his fingertips.
Zelda giggled. “I should probably get him in for an exam right away.”
Theo looked away from the road. His ornery grin and sparkling blue eyes were never more beautiful, glowing in the light of the full moon that hung in the clear night sky above, shining down on the road that curved through the woods surrounding his family’s weekend cabin in the mountains.
Zelda saw the deer first. She sucked in a sharp breath, but there was no time for more. The front end of Theo’s car hit the buck at full speed, and they spun off the road, rolling down the side of a ravine and into a shallow creek.
The car landed upside down, and Zelda tasted blood. The airbag had hit her hard, and she thought her nose might be broken. There was glass everywhere. It glittered red, but she couldn’t tell if it was from blood or the light of the moon. An eclipse had taken hold of the sky while they’d lain unconscious, and the crisp white light had shifted to a deep red.
“Theo?” She groaned and pushed away from the dash.
Theo’s breath rushed out in a gurgling rasp. He stared wide-eyed at her, his head lying limp across the deflated airbag over the steering wheel. Blood ran down between his eyes and dripped off the end of his nose. It gushed from his lips and coated his chin and throat. He took one last breath, and Zelda stared, waiting for an exhale that never came.
“Theo? Theo!”
Her hands trembled as she fought against her seatbelt. When she finally freed herself, she unlatched Theo and dragged him from the car, out the broken side window and across the rocky bank of the creek.
She began CPR, blowing into his bloodied mouth and doing chest compressions with shaking hands. Her flimsy shawl had been forgotten in the accident, and her bare shoulders shook violently in the cold night air.
After ten minutes, she pressed her forehead to Theo’s chest and screamed, sobbing into his bloodstained tuxedo.
“No. No. No.”
She sat upright and rubbed her hands together, feeling the electricity crackle beneath her skin. The coven would never forgive her for this, but she didn’t care.
She placed one hand in the shallow creek water and one on Theo’s chest. Then she tilted her face up to the blood moon above and summoned every ounce of power she had access to.
Three raw screams ripped through her skull, and her own joined them as lightning splintered through her body and into Theo’s. He convulsed as his back bowed and his chest rose up off the ground. Soon he was screaming too.
But at least he was alive.
Chapter Thirteen
Zelda woke covered in sweat. Her everything hurt. A stray dreadlock stuck to her damp face, and her throat was dry. She tried to sit up, but found a heavy arm draped over her chest.
Logan snored softly beside her. The circles under his eyes let her know that he hadn’t been asleep long, and the fact that he was on top of the covers told her that he hadn’t tried to get fresh with her.
Of course he hadn’t, she thought, catching a whiff of her own breath. Someone had given her wolfsbane tea. The day before came back to her slowly, and she gently moved Logan’s arm to examine her own, peeling back the multiple dressings.
The blisters on her palm and forearm were already healing, but the werewolf bite looked infected. Pus seeped from the wound, and the greenish bruise had turned purple.
Zelda sat up slowly, pausing to catch her breath when her head throbbed in protest. She noticed the full, abandoned cup on the bedside table and took a small sip, cringing at the foul, lukewarm tea.
She stood gingerly and picked up the tray with the teapot before making her way downstairs to the kitchen.
A sliver of morning light peeked in through the curtains of the back door as she refilled the pot and placed it on the stove. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed a small wooden box on the kitchen counter. A note accompanied it, written in Dr. Delph’s nearly illegible handwriting, instructing her to drink at least three cups a day for the next week—unless she wanted to be a legitimate alpha.
Zelda snorted and opened the box, finding a stack of smelly wolfsbane teabags inside. But her smile melted as she heard the jukebox kick on from inside the pub.
She slowly pushed through the swinging doors and stared across the empty bar, lit only by the pale morning light coming in through the front door, since the broken window had been boarded up.
A shadowy figure sat on a barstool, nodding her head in time to the Eagles’ Witchy Woman. Zelda’s vision sharpened and her heart leapt into her throat.
“Don’t worry, girl,” the woman said softly. “If I’d meant you harm, I could have slit your throat while you lay in your new lover’s arms.”
“He’s not my lover,” Zelda said. What little strength she’d recovered suddenly leached away.
“It matters not to me.” The woman turned toward Zelda. Her face was a map of suffering, a story that looked a hundred years old, though Zelda knew she was barely forty. The shock sent her back a step. “Hazel?”
The woman nodded, a bitter smile tugging up one side of her wrinkled face.
The last time Zelda had seen her had been in California, the week before the accident. She had been beautiful—thick auburn hair and skin like porcelain. Hazel’s vanity and magic went hand in hand. It was how she had managed to maintain her modeling career past her prime.
Zelda’s throat tightened. “How?”
Hazel’s wizened face creased deeper. “The consequences were different for us all. Though I can’t quite peg what it is you’ve had to suffer—other than your own stupidity.”
Zelda looked down at her exposed hand and arm, the blisters barely visible in the low light. The pain paled in comparison to what she’d woken to the morning after resurrecting Theo.
Hazel tilted her head. “Whatever happened to that boy you were so quick to sacrifice your sisters for?”
Zelda’s eyes watered as she cleared her throat. “He’s gone.”
Hazel sighed and nodded softly. “You were the best of us, but even you should have known better than to play god.”
Zelda’s tears blurred her vision and streamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It was selfish and cruel. I should have let him go, but I couldn’t.”
Hazel waved her off. “I didn’t come here for an apology. You left the coven without the ritual bond-breaking. I thought maybe you’d died trying to save that boy. I hadn’t felt the pull of your will for damn near two years. The curiosity got to me.”
Zelda frowned. “How are the others?”
“I’m not one for crowds these days,” Hazel said, narrowing her eyes. “But we stay in touch. Maggie and Sarah still work together occasionally. Honestly, I thought I might run into them here. They haven’t forgotten about you.” She gave Zelda a stern look. “If you plan on doing any more dabbling, I suggest you take the proper precautions and sever your ties to the coven. That’s the only bit of advice you’ll be getting from me.”
“Thank you.” Zelda took a small step forward, stopping when Hazel hissed at her.
“That’s close enough.”
The older witch stood abruptly, gripping the back of the barstool to support her hunched over frame. She grimaced and touched a charm dangling at her neck.
“I forgive you, Zelda Mae Fulmen. May we never meet again.” Hazel twisted the charm in her arthritic hand and disappeared with a faint pop.
Zelda’s ears rang, and her stomach cramped. She had vowed never to use magic again. Severing coven ties hadn’t seemed necessary at the time. But if Hazel could find her, that meant Sarah could too. And Sarah didn’t do forgiveness.
The teapot whistled and Zelda dragged herself back into the kitchen. First, she needed to regain some of her strength. Then she had some shopping to do. Coven severance was a delicate ritual.
Chapter Fourteen
Zelda took a quick shower, painfully washing her wounds. When she redressed them, she stopped at her wrist so the blisters along her palm could breathe. Then she pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt, hiding the worst of her condition.
It wasn’t quite eight o’clock yet, so she let Logan sleep in, leaving him a note to let him know she’d be back by nine with coffee. The tea had left a sour taste in her mouth that only intensified upon brushing her teeth. It seemed to be working well enough, but she needed something stronger. She slipped out the back door and made her way across town.
Spero Heights kept odd hours. A good thirty percent of the town consisted of vampires and other nocturnal species. They kept to the north end of town, referred to as the Midnight District. Businesses that catered primarily to day-w
alkers were situated along the south side, and the in-between businesses were clustered in the middle.
The Crimson Moon sat to the west of town square, a bit more south than north, since Zelda kept regular bar hours. There was no sense in staying open all night for the nocturnal crowd. The vampires of Spero Heights had their own bar in the Midnight District.
On the outskirts of the Midnight District, the only occult shop in Spero Heights was tucked between a used bookstore and a salon. Nightshade and Morning Glory was run by a little old man named Ben. His door was always open, day or night, which led Zelda to believe that Ben didn’t sleep.
The store itself didn’t seem like it should require such persistent attention, but Ben also maintained a fantastic garden on the roof of his building. The greenery spilled over the gutters, trailing down the brick façade. Twisted vines fingered the doorframe and latticed over the windows, creating living curtains that blossomed gorgeously for three seasons.
The internal garden was sheltered by a glass greenhouse, protecting the fragile herbs that Ben grew year round. He also harvested a fair amount of organic produce from his small space that he sold at the farmers’ market.
Zelda had stopped using magic, but she didn’t need magic to make good use of herbs and stones. The necklace she wore had been fashioned from pieces she’d collected from Ben’s store. The string of jet beads was accented by three large onyx pieces, all embedded with precious stones.
The moss agate had been the first she’d purchased. It aided in recovery, focus, and self-control, and it welcomed new beginnings. Opposite of the agate was an infinity stone, better known as the Healer’s Stone. It drew pain from the body and sped healing—physical and emotional.
The amethyst, embedded in the largest center piece on Zelda’s necklace, was the most significant. She acquired it after her third wolf patient. Ben had been adamant about selling it to her, so much so that he discounted it by more than half. Amethyst focused healing energy, relieved anxiety and negativity, and it also guarded against drunkenness—something Ben thought would be useful in her new line of work.
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